


Driving the Snakes out of Tokyo

by Dotty_Scrivener



Category: Finder, Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: AU, Dominance and Submission, Eventual Smut, Light BDSM, M/M, Organized Crime, Potential violence, Sex Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dotty_Scrivener/pseuds/Dotty_Scrivener
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place in the same AU as Special Services, but it happens some months after that story. Kuroda passed the law exam and is in his first year apprenticeship at the Tokyo Public Prosecutor’s Office. Kuroda is trying to make a name for himself and takes it upon himself to start investigating a counterfeit money ring and seek the international criminal, Aidan Mahone, who is known for his counterfeiting skills and ties to organized crime. Kuroda is surprised to find Kirishima wherever he turns. The pace of the story might be slower, but I intend to include smut eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driving the Snakes out of Tokyo

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the original characters were named in homage to the Ace Attorney game, but they are not the same people. Aidan Mahon is an original character who chose to use "Aiden P. Mahone" on his official paperwork so that when some people ask his name, he can say "Pogue Mahone" (which is "Kiss my arse" in Irish).

“Oh joy,” thought Kuroda, “another day; another chance to further bureaucracy.” He stood in line holding the stack of motions and pleadings he needed to file with the District Court. Although he had passed the law exam several months ago and gotten a job at the Public Prosecutor’s Office, he was would be considered a trainee for a year. So far, most of this training seemed to consist of endless paperwork. This is not the crusade for justice he had imagined. He had a cubical instead of an office, he logged hours of drudgework, and the greatest danger he seemed to face was a paper cut. No wonder Kuroda sought distractions.

  
As the line inched forward, Kuroda thought of the parade he had passed on the way over to the District Court building. There were people in green, smiling and waving. “It was… something cute.” He thought, “St. Patrick’s Day.” Kuroda was almost sure it was St. Patrick’s Day. It was the one where some bars gave free drinks to women who wore green bras. Kuroda stopped for a moment to think about lacey green bras and panties. Kuroda considered green boxers with the leafy green plant patterns outlined in gold. “What was it?” he wondered, “Lucky clovers? This was some sort of Irish holiday. It had something to do with spring, anyway.” It made Kuroda miss the freedom of being a student.

  
Kuroda could no longer get away with wearing green or costumes to look cute and carefree. He dressed in a serious dark blue suit and had serious black glasses--only the haircut was still a bit trendy. The hair and the occasional smirk betrayed Kuroda’s youth, which the prosecutor’s office was attempting to paper over and bury. There was also a strange social pressure to schmooze people. Whenever Kuroda was not doing paperwork, for some reason he was often trying to ingratiate himself to others—the file clerks, the judge’s clerks, and various people his boss introduced him too. “Oh well,” he thought, “it never hurts to be nice.”

“Well, it didn’t hurt much,” Kuroda amended in his head. Sometimes he choked on the sarcastic comments he had to swallow. That usually didn’t happen when he talked to clerks, however. That happened when he had to schmooze superiors and important people. It happened a lot when he talked to Auchi Takefumi, the supervising attorney who gave Kuroda all the grunt work. “But why let a grumpy old man spoil a nice spring day?” Kuroda thought as he looked ahead.

Kuroda tried to remember the name of the mousy young clerk working the main counter today. “It was Houdzuki Akane,” He remembered, “That’s right—and Houdszuki has two cats and likes gardening. She blushes when flattered, but seems to enjoy it.” Kuroda was always careful that his mild flirtation made the recipient feel good. If the other became uncomfortable, then he wouldn’t build up much good will—and that was the point. You never knew when you might need a favor, and Kuroda was not one to discount anyone’s value.

  
The line moved forward again, and Kuroda let his gaze wander out the large Plexiglas wall and into the hallway. Then he froze. Through the clear glass, Kuroda could see a man who looked like someone he used to know. The man had the same tall build and flawless suit, the same short hair and glasses, and the same scowl as…”It could not be” protested Kuroda’s mind. Kuroda looked harder and realized it was. It was Kirishima, a law librarian Kuroda had gotten to know while studying for the bar.

“Gotten to know” may have been overstating it. What had happened… Kuroda got goosebumps at the thought. Kirishima looked up and met Kuroda’s eyes, and Kuroda blushed and looked back to the clerk. Kuroda had memories of Kirishima’s face regarding him with disapproval, and of how Kuroda had come to try to please the cranky bastard, and started to look for that scowl.

Kuroda failed to move up as the line cleared. Houdzuki looked a little confused and called out, “Next?”

Kuroda put images of ice cubes trailing over his own naked chest aside and gave Houdzuki one of his best smiles. The clerk took his papers.

“Good afternoon Houdzuki-San. You look nice today.” Kuroda felt his game was off. Wasn’t he going to ask something about her cats? Kuroda tried to think, but he could not stop watching Kirishima from the corner of his eye.

“Thank you Kuroda-San.” Houdzuki said politely and took the pile, stamped the officially filed documents and all copies, and gave the right amount of papers back to Kuroda. Kuroda thanked her and turned to walk out. Kuroda looked directly at Kirishima in the hallway.

Kirishima smiled and walked away. For some reason, Kirishima was carrying a large duffle bag. It looked a bit odd, being so large and unprofessional—that was not like Kirishima. But it was not the duffle that bothered Kuroda. What bothered Kuroda as he adjusted his own leather messenger bag to cover his front is that the mere sight of Kirishima had given Kuroda a hard on.

“Honestly,” thought Kuroda, “it is like being a teenager.” Something about that stern gaze turned Kuroda into a naughty schoolboy. They had never dated. They had not even been lovers, not really. But something about Kirishima unsettled Kuroda more than any other ever had.

  
Kuroda usually dated fun people and pretty people. It didn’t matter whether they were male or female, so long as they were cute, and not too serious. They were young and sweet and fluffy. Each one was special—but none of them very close. In contrast, Kirishima was imposing and all too serious. Kirishima had never gotten close to Kuroda either, but they had a strange and weird intimacy Kuroda could neither speak of or forget. It was as if somehow Kirishima could see into Kuroda, and make Kuroda who Kuroda would be if no one else were watching—or who Kuroda could only be if Kirishima was watching. Kuroda was surprised at how much he had come to covet one of Kirishima’s rare smiles.

  
When Kuroda had been studying for the law exam, Kirishima had given Kuroda special access to the law library—at a price. Kirishima let Kuroda in after hours and on weekends, but then Kirishima would engage in a strange game of chastisements and punishments, acts that exposed and teased Kuroda until Kuroda inevitably came in a trembling mess under the librarian’s command. It was a type of BDSM that focused on Kuroda’s submission rather than pain. Kuroda remembered being naked and tied up on display. At first, it had frightened Kuroda to be so vulnerable, but Kuroda had slowly gotten used to it. Maybe it was because Kuroda knew he had the freedom to leave that Kuroda was able to somehow start to enjoy the submissive role in the stern librarian’s games.

  
They were just games. It wasn’t really sex, well, at least not intercourse, not proper sex. Kirishima never took off his own clothes. There was no feeling of love, exactly, just… just the eyes. Kirishima always claimed to be punishing Kuroda for some infraction, but Kirishima’s eyes burned whenever he looked at Kuroda.

  
Kuroda remembered Kirishima’s intense eyes as Kirishima would pick an instrument for one of his “punishments.” As Kuroda stood wearing nothing but an intricate web of knotted rope, Kirishima would choose--something covered in fake fur, a surprisingly soft leather flogger, or something that vibrated--and Kuroda was not sure whether it was the way these items touched Kuroda that made him shiver or a longing that Kirishima would touch him more directly, skin to skin. Kirishima masterfully maneuvered Kuroda into a state of mind where Kuroda felt excited by the embarrassment and exposure until having toys inserted into Kuroda made Kuroda come just as if it were actual sex. However, Kirishima kept a distance. Kirishima scolded, and sometimes he seemed amused, but he never betrayed any feeling or demonstrated release in front of Kuroda. To Kuroda, Kirishima was bigger than life—and untouchable.

  
After Kuroda had passed the law exam, Kuroda had tried to visit the library again, but there was a new librarian. Kirishima had moved on to a new job. It was a clear sign to Kuroda to move on too.

  
“What was Kirishima doing here?” Kuroda wondered. The thoughts and images that flooded Kuroda’s mind did nothing to shrink the tent in his pants. Kuroda tried to think about multiplication tables. Bad strategy. It reminded Kuroda of how Kirishima had sometimes quizzed him, and how Kirishima had demanded Kuroda take off a piece of clothing for every wrong answer.

“That’s not fair,” Kuroda had complained, “We always keep going until I am naked, and you never take anything off.”

“Take off two extra items as a penalty for complaining.” The rebuke was delivered without acknowledging Kuroda’s point. Kuroda wanted to argue, but after taking off his shirt and undershirt, he was down to his underwear.

  
“Tighty-whities?” Kirishima questioned, “Those are not your style.”

  
“It’s laundry day,” Kuroda had explained. Actually, Kuroda had missed several laundry days and was considering buying new clothes rather than face the heap that had been accumulating. Other than Kirishima, nothing had diverted Kuroda’s attention from studying.

Kirishima had tsked and moved onto the next question. After that…

“No,” thought Kuroda, “I can’t let myself go there.” Kuroda thought of maggots--squirming maggots. Kuroda thought of insects. Kuroda tried to keep his mind on anything gross. Somehow, Kirishima’s demanding sexiness was stronger than any repulsive or sickening thought Kuroda could conjure.

  
“There’s no helping it,” thought Kuroda, “I can’t do my job like this.” Kuroda made his way to a third-floor restroom that was often empty. He checked to make sure no one else was there, and then locked himself in a stall. He dropped the messenger bag and unzipped his pants. He stroked his penis and gave into his thoughts.

  
Kuroda’s mind skipped to the last time he had been with Kirishima. It was special. It was the night before the law exam. Kuroda was naked, but not bound. Kuroda had voluntarily stood with his legs apart and his fingers laced behind his head. At first, Kirishima had just looked, slowly circling Kuroda, and then Kirishima had run his hands over Kuroda. Kuroda remembered how inexplicably happy Kuroda had been that Krisihima had touched him directly this time. Kirishima’s hands had tickled, caressed, and slapped every inch of Kuroda. The thought made Kuroda increase the speed of his stroke as he masturbated. Kuroda remembered the strange intimacy and the sense that this session would be the last.

  
Kuroda remembered kneeling on command, and Kirishima taking off his socks. Rather than being shocked at this new move, Kuroda remembered feeling happy to see even this much of Kirishima exposed. Moving almost before he was told to do so, Kuroda had bent to kiss Kirishima’s feet—and felt joy. It was the only time Kuroda had kissed Kirishima.

  
It was a kiss goodbye. Kuroda remembered the strange submission, and how much it had come to mean. The tension peaked and Kuroda knew he would come thinking of his lips on Kirishima’s toes. Kuroda let himself come, moaning softly. He retained the image of smooth, beautiful feet, and then of intense librarian eyes. Kuroda grabbed some tissue paper to clean up the mess in his hand.

  
Kuroda sighed and put himself back in order before moving to the sink to wash his hands. “Maybe the paperwork is getting to me,” he thought. He could imagine how Kirishima would respond to such childish complaints. “That’s enough,” Kirishima’s voice said in Kuroda’s head, “Time to get back to work.”

  
After leaving the toilets, Kuroda saw someone in a tall leprechaun costume gambling down the hall. It was a plushy costume made of puffy sewn fabric that looked much like a forest fairly if the fairy were wearing green and sporting a red beard. The leprechaun’s large green top hat shape had eyeholes and the leprechaun’s pink face came down to the costume wearer’s middle. Kuroda wondered for a moment why someone from the parade had been all the way up here in the court building but didn’t give it too much thought. These things happened, and there was a parade. Kuroda decided to make his way to Konaka Masaru, a judge’s clerk Kuroda had meant to ask out to lunch.

  
As Kuroda neared the judge’s chambers, there was a commotion in the hallway. Several bailiffs and police officers came running in Kuroda’s direction. “What’s wrong?” Kuroda asked, but they did not slow down to talk. They ran past him without so much as a nod. As Kuroda stared after them, Konaka entered the hallway and walked up to Kuroda.

“I can’t talk today,” Konaka said, “There’s been big trouble.”

“What happened?”

  
Konaka hesitated. Normally, the judge’s clerk did not disclose court business. But Kuroda was a prosecutor, and they had a good relationship. “I don’t have the details, but a prisoner escaped right before a hearing.”

  
“What?”

  
“Yes, some international counterfeit specialist—Aiden Mahone. They had him in a conference room waiting to go into court. When they went to get him, his guard was unconscious and he was gone.”

  
“Really?”

  
“We should find him soon. It’s not like he can walk out of the building in a prison jumpsuit.”

  
“Right. Well, I’ll let you go. We’ll talk later.”

  
“Yes. Right. Till later.”

  
Kuroda walked towards the stairs to make his way out of the building. There were police everywhere, and no one could get out the doors without being scrutinized. There were not that many people going out. Mahone would have no way out.

  
Kuroda had heard some talk of Mahone in the prosecutor’s office. Mahone was known as a skilled counterfeiter behind various problems around the world, but Mahone was most closely associated with a criminal organization from Chicago. It was odd for Mahone to work in Japan and even stranger that he was caught and held in Tokyo. It was important to the prosecutor’s office to detain Mahone. Not only could counterfeit money devalue the currency, the fact that Mahone must be working with a local criminal organization means he is someone the prosecutors need to pump for more information. There was still some counterfeiting going on, and it was a priority to shut the operation down.

  
Once in the street, Kuroda noticed there were still many people in green, as well as giant inflatable balloons meant to look like a mug of dark beer. There were people wearing green headbands with something that looked like antennae on top, people with rainbows and pots of gold painted on their faces, and even several of the plush costumed leprechauns. “Yes,” thought Kuroda, “Soft fabric leprechaun costumes—just like the one that seemed so out of place in the courthouse.”

  
As Kuroda walked towards the Public Prosecutor’s Office, a tall leprechaun caught his eye. It could be the same one from the courthouse. The leprechaun seemed to be moving deliberately “upstream” from most people and not joining in the fun. Kuroda was almost certain it was the same person. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the person anyway. Kuroda followed after the person he had decided to call “the leprechaun” as the leprechaun moved purposefully toward a side street. Now, the leprechaun was not with other people in green. If this had any possible connection to Mahone, Kuroda wanted to know.

  
Kuroda had worked so hard to be a lawyer and join the prosecutor’s office so that Kuroda could do things like this. Kuroda wanted to chase down leads. Kuroda wanted to crack a case wide open. Kuroda wanted to find out what “lucky charms” this leprechaun was after.

  
The leprechaun noticed Kuroda was following. The leprechaun turned right, raced to the end of the street, and turned left. Kuroda moved quicker but did not run. Kuroda did not want to draw attention to himself, but then, neither did the leprechaun. Kuroda was not encumbered by and awkward costume and was gaining on the leprechaun.

  
The leprechaun increased its speed. Kuroda had to admire that. It had to be hot in the costume, and hard to see as well as hard to move. The leprechaun could have sweat dripping down into his or her eyes and not know where he or she was going. All the same, the leprechaun was surprisingly nimble and surged out ahead once again.

  
The leprechaun was definitely trying to shake Kuroda. That by itself does not mean much. It may seem strange for a man to start following a person. Kuroda did not look particularly scary, but he was a tall man. He was young and fit, and he could hold his own in a fight if need be. Who knows what the leprechaun might be thinking? It was not as if Kuroda had “Public Prosecutor’s Office” stamped on his forehead. Besides, many people would rather not talk to prosecutors for any reason. Still, Kuroda was determined to catch up with the leprechaun.

  
The leprechaun turned right and then tried to duck into a doorway. Kuroda turned right and examined the street. There was something green and fuzzy sticking out of the top of a doorway in the middle of the block. It looked like part of a giant green hat. Kuroda moved confidently in its direction.

  
It is possible the leprechaun invoked Jesus, Mary, and Joseph as the leprechaun noticed Kuroda was closing in. The leprechaun was indeed sweaty and out of breath. The leprechaun might have reflected on how much the costume was hated before running. The decision to run let the leprechaun pull ahead for a minute, and turn again when the leprechaun saw an alley.

  
As Kuroda watched the smiling plush face explode from the doorway and take off, Kuroda was confident he would catch up soon without having to run himself. The leprechaun darted to the left into an alley. Kuroda quickened his pace, just a little. Kuroda was almost sure this alley dead-ended. Kuroda wondered if he should call his office, but decided not to until he found out more from the person in the costume.

  
The alley was narrow, and the tall buildings around it made most of the alley shady. Despite the shadows, Kuroda noticed a lump at the end of the alley near a dumpster. Kuroda pulled out his cell phone in case he needed to call for backup. Now, he would get some answers.

  
Kuroda cautiously but deliberately approached the lump. It was the leprechaun. The leprechaun stood still, with his back to Kuroda. The person in the costume must be trapped. “Maybe I should be reassuring,” thought Kuroda, “reassuring but firm. Like a prosecutor. Which I am.”

  
“Hello, I am from the prosecutor’s office. I just want to talk with you for a moment.” Kuroda’s tone was professional. His voice was clear and easy to hear without being too loud. It was like approaching a stray cat.

  
The figure in the costume did not move.

  
“There is no need for alarm. I just have a few questions.”

  
The leprechaun was silent.

  
Kuroda took a few steps forward. “Aidan Mahone.” Kuroda tried, hoping for a reaction.

  
Nothing.

  
Kuroda moved closer and eventually put a hand on the leprechaun’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” Kuroda’s grip seemed to go through the shoulder—it was like grabbing a pillow. Kuroda pulled the head off the costume and revealed--an empty costume. Kuroda picked up the costume and shook it out. He looked behind it, and in the nearby trash. There was nobody there—just the leprechaun suit which had been propped against a dumpster.

  
Kuroda sighed and gave up. He needed to get back to the office. This had cost him his lunch hour. As he walked back to the street, he saw a shadowy figure in the main street at the alley entrance. It had a familiar shape and posture. Kuroda caught his breath. “Not again?” Kuroda thought. But as he walked nearer, Kuroda was sure of it—it was Kirishima.

  
“What are you doing running around in alleys and playing with silly costumes? Is this any way for an attorney to act?” It was Kirishima alright.

  
Kuroda walked stiffly up to his old…whatever…and Kuroda pushed his glasses up his nose. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you quit your job at the law library?”

  
“Oh, did you try to see me?” The corner of Kirishima’s mouth twitched, “How hard did you look for me?”

Kuroda scowled now. Kirishima had ignored Kuroda’s first question and this exchange was not going in a direction Kuroda liked. Kuroda decided to redirect the conversation. “Did you see a foreign man run out of this alley and back to the street? Or did you see anyone?”

  
“A foreign man? What are you doing running around looking for foreign men?” Kirishima raised an eyebrow.

  
“It’s got nothing to do with you. Never mind.” Kuroda blushed. Suddenly, it seemed very silly to have been madly chasing a leprechaun.

  
“Still blushing? You must learn to control that. Being so undisciplined must be a drawback in the Public Prosecutor’s Office.”

  
“I am doing fine.” Kuroda said defensively, but he thought, “How does Kirishima know where I work?”

  
“You must learn to act with dignity, and not mess around in the streets like a common gutter rat. Don’t you care about your professional image?”

  
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Kuroda said as he drew himself up and leaned into Kirishima’s personal space.

  
“I am,” said Kirishima, and then Kirishima leaned down and kissed Kuroda. It was sweet and strong and full on the lips. Kuroda was stunned. Kirishima smiled.

  
Then Kirishima turned on his heel and walked to a limousine that was parked by the curb. Kirishima opened the driver’s door and got in. There was a foreign man with wavy black hair, blue eyes, and pale white skin in the back seat, but Kuroda did not notice. Kuroda could only stare dumbly after Kirishima.

  
“He finally kissed me,” Kuroda thought as Kirishima drove away.

 


End file.
